


summer's in the air (and baby heaven's in your eyes)

by LovelyPlantPrincess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, I'm back frm hiatus at least, I'm just getting back into writing, Kinda, dark smut, it's not fluffy or sweet, lana del rey - Freeform, national anthem, song!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyPlantPrincess/pseuds/LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't think about it. She didn't need to think. It felt good like every drug she'd ever tried and every alcohol that had coursed the track of her veins and why the hell would she think when he was there with her and his hands were everywhere and it was happiness?</p><p>||National Anthem by Lana Del Rey</p>
            </blockquote>





	summer's in the air (and baby heaven's in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! I'm back. And look, with smutish dark, Ellen/John. None of this makes sense because it's basically just practice writing until I can get back to all of my main stories and fic collections but try to enjoy???

summer's in the air (and baby heavens in your eyes)

It was always late night romps and making out in broom closets and nothing more. _Kiss, kiss, bite, bite. Goodnight._

She didn't think about it. She didn't need to think. It felt good like every drug she'd ever tried and every alcohol that had coursed the track of her veins and why the _hell_ would she think when he was there with her and his hands were everywhere and it was _happiness_?

Or it was happiness for an hour or two every night. Then it was back to demons and blood and salt and sawed-off shotguns. No one questioned it. No one questioned the sleazy sluts and tramps in out of Jo's room with fiery red hair, no one questioned Sam's screams for a dead Gabriel in the dead of night, no one questioned Dean and Castiel's hushed whispers and blaring red hickey's. No one questioned _them_.

"Relax," John whispers and his lips are on her neck. She's thinking. Damn it, she didn't think. Not with him. That was the whole _fucking_ point - pun intended. She didn't think because then she would lose the spark of the moment. So the metal is beneath her jeans and it's hurts her ass but it keeps her on earth so it's good. This is _good_. Don't think just act and regret and cry and feel.

_Red, white, blue's in the sky..._

His hands run through her hair, the kinks and tangles from her not brushing it in god-knows-how-long coming undone with his touch. She needs to wash her hair. It smells. Of cheap sex, of gun oil or of guilt?

Never mind that, it's all the same thing in the end. It smells like John. It's like skunk stink, she can't shake it no matter how many showers she takes or how many times she tries to scrub him off her skin.

Her nails catch in the cloth of his shirt, and she pulls him for a kiss because god, what's wrong with her? She needs to get her fucking mind off of it.

_It's a love story for the new age..._

Love, no, not love. Sex, yes. Painful, yes. But not love. Love was a label and they didn't do labels. They did biting and fighting and guns and demon traps. They couldn't afford labels. Labels meant she was a target and she couldn't be a target because she had two kids and she didn't have the bar but _fuck_ she had people that _needed_ her.

John's teeth pull at her bottom lip.

"Fuck," she sighs, because damn he knew what buttons to push. It was already bad enough they were fucking in the flatbed of her truck under the stars in the middle of a hunt but damn, John, damn, damn, damn.

"Keep up with that dirty talk and you won't get your jeans off," he mutters in her ear. Ellen arches her back in response, wiggles out of the tight pair of jeans that she did not buy to flaunt in front of him, thank you very much. Even if the jeans were a little too tight around the hips. "I thought wrong."

She rolls her eyes and hooks her arm behind his neck, pulling him back down to her. His shirt is off and her pants are but if feels like they have too many clothes on, like they need to be stripped to their souls to feel each other.

"Is that lingerie?" John chuckles. "Jesus, fuck, a woman hasn't dressed up for me like that since..."

"Shut up, it's not for you. It's for me," Ellen says defensively, but she something in her swells with pride at the way his eyes can't stay up north. Is this what it felt like to be young and in love and slightly moronic and a whole lot of insane? Even with Bill, she didn't grasp the moronic and the whole lot of insane part. Even if it's not love. _Fuck_ love. It's _not_ love.

_(she just took special time dressing up for him this morning, and so what, yeah, she's wearing red lipstick)_

"You're the only one I know that's narcissistic enough to wear lingerie for themselves," he mutters.

"I'm sorry, do you and I know the same Dean Winchester?" she asks. He laughs, deep and low in his belly and it sounds so good before dips his head to kiss her again.

He's eager to get her shirt off and she's eager to get his pants off and then they're in their underwear making out like horny teenagers but it's okay because it was good. It was whiskey perfect - it was fire and it was destruction but it was electric.

Her knee grazes his inner thigh and something familiar pokes at her hip and oh fucking god, were his eyes always this green? He seems in a rush to get to the point and she wants to draw it out so they battle for dominance to see who'll win but in the end he's thrusting slow and dangerous and she's begging for him to just fuck her into oblivion.

And then the trucks rocking in the same rhythm of her heart and she's breathing hard to the stars and there's tears on her lips because jesus, _fuck_ , it's been that long since it's felt like making love and not just fucking.

Fucking. Love. _Fuck it._ She was in love with John Winchester and that was the most destructive thing she'd thought in the past day. Good for her.

Fireworks explode in the sky and behind her eyelids and electricity hums in the air. John cries out her name and sinks his teeth into her neck to muffle his cries of orgasm. She covers her mouth with her hands because Jo is just over the hill with her new concubine and Dean and Sam are inside the motel and they can't hear them, they really can't.

She feels blood in her mouth and her hand burns but that's okay because her eyes burn too.

"I love you," John whispers to himself, before his body weight eases off of her and onto the scratchy blanket beside him. She can hear him breathing hard but she pretends he's sleeping so that she can let water slip from her eyes without feeling guilty.

_I love you too._

Motherfucker. God fucking cunt whore bitch.

She _hated_ love.


End file.
